Letters From A Loser
by ganontheumbreon
Summary: Arthur is receiving some strange letters from an anonymous person. A collab with artiekins on tumblr. Enjoy! uvu


_"My dearest Arthur,_

_Your presence lights up my whole life. Are your slender, yet strong legs growing tired? Because you've been running through my thoughts all day. Your eyes are greener than the greenest tree in spring. Your face is softer than our future child's bottom. I adore you, Mister Kirkland._

_~Your Secret Admirer"_

Arthur stood there in his slippers, the lavender sprayed letter in one hand, a rolled up newspaper in his other. His toothbrush hung from his mouth, gripped loosely between his teeth. His eye twitched, eyebrows knitting together, a glob of foamy toothpaste dripping down his chin and onto his sleeping shirt. "Another one...?" was what he murmured as he very slowly shut the door and slunk back into his house.

He had received many letters, all with the same gentle lavender smell, the same off-white envelope, with no return address, and the same cheesy poems or horrible pick up lines concealed inside. Arthur only had one guess of who it could be. Feverishly, he finished scrubbing his teeth, sauntering back to the bathroom and spitting out the mouthful of white foam. With a snarl curling the corner of his lip upwards, he snatched up the letter and piled it with all of the others on his cluttered desk._ 'I'm paying him a visit'..._

Curled up in a comfortable position on the couch, his poodle in his arms, Francis hummed to himself peacefully. Still wearing his pajamas, his hair was tangled and messy. So when a knock was heard at the door, Francis was a bit startled._ 'Who would be visiting this early? And without warning, too!'_ he thought. He stood from his warm, comfy spot, dropping the dog onto a cushion, and shuffled his way over to answer the door. Standing there was a familiar face, eyes narrowed critically and arms crossed over his sweater-covered chest. "Um, good morning? What are you doing over here, Angleterre?" Francis asked.

Arthur shoved the door open, slipping past the Frenchman, and made himself at home, leaning against the arm of the couch. "I came here to request something," he stated, although his voice was none too sincere. He scanned the room for any sign of letter making, but everything was neat and unsuspicious. He chewed on the inside of his mouth habitually, crossing one leg over the other. "Stop sending me weird love letters. They're ridiculous and immature."

"...Huh?" Francis returned to his seat and comforted his trembling poodle. "Weird love letters? I don't know what you're talking about, but I think my baby is scared of you. Go sit on the other side of the room."

"Your baby is a dog," Arthur snapped in return, kicking off from the couch and moved to the far wall of the living room. "And don't lie, I know you're sending me letters. They're spritzed with a dash of lavender, and the only person I know who washes with lavender is you." From across the living room, Arthur pointed an accusing finger at his suspect. "So just confess."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but they aren't from me. If I truly was in love with someone, I'd go and say it to their gorgeous little face. But I'm not. And love letters are so outdated, too! I'm offended, Arthur Kirkland." The French nation pouted, dragging a little brush through his dog's ruffled hair. "What do the letters look like? Do you have them with you?"

The British nation grunted reluctantly, tapping his foot on the wooden floor. "You're lying, but... Fine. I have one. And now that I think about it, they're definitely not in your hand writing..." His cheeks flushed in embarrassment. The blonde rubbed the back of his head, eyes wandering around the room only to avoid looking at the French nation.

"Bring them over here and I'll help you find out the handwriting, alright?" Francis pulled himself to his feet, stretching for a moment. Arthur approached the couch once again, plopping down beside the Frenchman. He dug out the messily folded paper from his back pocket and slapped it onto Francis's lap. "I find it very cute that you assumed it was /me/, though~! Were you secretly hoping it was?" the Frenchman added.

"Haha, actually, I was. Because I'm going to kick the ass of whoever's sending them, and I was hoping to kick your ass today." The previous suspicious tension in the air was long gone.

"Let's see... That handwriting looks a little familiar. Wait... it actually looks a lot like Matthew's!" Francis giggled and put a hand over his mouth. "Aww, little Mattie has a crush on you! And when he was little, I'd always tell him that lavender was such a romantic scent. Other than me, only he would know that. It's definitely my little Canadian!" He gave Arthur a pat on the back and smiled, but his excited expression soon turned to a threatening frown. "Just so you know... if you cause _any_ harm to my precious little angel, I will make you regret it. Go easy on him. He's still young! Maybe even give him a chance!"

Arthur stuttered and pulled the letter away, only to shove it back into Francis's face. "Did you even read what this says? 'Your face is softer than our future child's bottom.' That isn't Matthew, and if it is, just bury me alive. Are you saying this junk was written by your kid?!" He snorted loudly, slamming the letter back onto Francis's thigh.

"Come on, now, he's young. He's going through that phase where he starts to get desperate. It's most definitely his handwriting. Look, he even dots his lowercase I's with hearts just like I taught him to!" Francis pointed to the paper, then dropped it and grabbed Arthur by the shoulders. "At least let him know you read them. Please? He already gets ignored enough as it is," he begged.

Arthur wiggled his shoulders, ducking out of Francis's grip and standing. "If anyone is desperate, it's you!" he hissed, but soon continued with a calmer voice. "Fine. I'll talk to him. But don't think I'll get together with him." Without another word to the Frenchman, Arthur made his exit, folding the paper back up and stuffing it into his pocket. In a handful of hours and one boring plane ride later, he was at the Canadian's door, already preparing the letter. Coughing into his fist, he knocked and waited.

The door creaked open. Matthew stood in the entrance, smiling shyly. "Hello there! Um, what's up? I wasn't expecting you. N-not that I want you to leave or anything. I've been hoping for some company!" he chirped.

'Wow, was he really the one to send these?' Arthur's face twisted in question and confliction, but he stepped inside the house, holding out the letter. "Did you send this? And a lot of other letters? Francis told me to come talk to you. It's okay if you did, but- well- I'm not really interested in any sort of relationship, so you can stop sending them and wasting paper and your time."

Matthew took one glance at the letter and turned away. His expression seemed as if he was about to vomit. "...Well... I'm the one who wrote them. But they're not my words, I promise! If I tell you who they're really from, can you promise not to let him know that I told you? He'd be so mad at me..." the Canadian replied nervously.

Arthur's face only contorted even more, his nose crinkling, his forehead wrinkling, and his eyebrows knitting together. "What? Why would you write them for someone else? That makes no sense! Who the hell is it?!" He smacked his hands onto his thighs impatiently, just about done with his game of goose chase.

"I-it's Alfred! He made me write them so his handwriting wouldn't be recognized. I didn't really want to, but he made me feel guilty when I said no. I'm really sorry..." Matthew suddenly turned away from the other, hiding his face in shame. Letting out a sigh, he continued. "Alfred's up in my room playing video games. Promise you won't tell him that I told you...?"

"Sorry, promises are meant to be broken," was all Arthur said. Shoving the letter against the Canadian's chest, he brushed past him, hurrying up the stairs and making no pause to slam through the bedroom door. "Alfred F. Jones! Geez, you could at least send me good pick up lines! And- why would you even send me those shitty poems and oh-so clever lines in the first place?!"

Alfred paused his game. Groaning childishly, he gave Arthur an irritated glare. "Geez, someone's a little rude. I almost died! If I didn't pause in time I'd be really mad at you. And uh... I don't know what poems you're talking about, Artie! You've surely got the wrong guy!" The last two sentences dripped in thick sarcasm, hinting at his lies.

Arthur stormed over to the bed, grabbing the game controller out of Alfred's hand and throwing it to the carpeted floor. He pointed a finger at Alfred's face, nearly smashing it against his nose. "I know you're lying, Jones! Just fucking admit it and knock it off so I can go home and have lunch!"

"Aww, come on... Why are you being so mean? I mean, I basically just confessed my feelings to you in those letters! And I wanted a cute way of going about it... I didn't think you'd care enough to find out." Alfred sighed, curling up on the edge of his bed and burying his face into his arms. "I didn't actually wanna make you angry..."

"Well, this certainly wasn't cute! It was mildly disturbing and childish! You could have at least used good pick up lines!" Rather violently, the Brit threw the letter down on top of the curled up American, letting out a frustrated growl. "I would have preferred that it be Francis or Matthew, not you! You of all damn people!"

"Why? Why am I worse than Francis or Matthew?" Alfred asked, pressing a hand over his mouth to hide the disgusting grin appearing on his face. 'Haha, it's working! I knew he'd get this angry!' he thought with a giggle.

"B-because, you actually thought up this brilliant idea to send me dozens of these- these pathetic things! And you didn't even try! If Francis had sent them, they would at least be good, and if Matthew wrote them, they would have been cute! But with you, they're just...!" The Brit sputtered, struggling to get out any words, and instead, shooting spit from his lips. "Whatever! Just don't send them anymore, I don't want them!"

"Haha, they were a joke, you moron!" Alfred finally said, bursting into laughter. "I was sending them to you as a joke! Because then you'd think you had a little secret admirer! I didn't think you'd get mad, though. Just a little disappointed that nobody actually finds you hot."

Arthur huffed. "Excuse you, Francis finds me very attractive! He counts as somebody! So there, you're wrong."

"Not really. He thinks everyone is attractive. He even thinks Kumajiro is attractive."

Exhausted from all his screaming and running around, Arthur threw up his arms in defeat. He plopped onto the bed beside Alfred, staring at the T.V. "So... What the hell kind of video game is this one?"

Alfred flopped onto his back and sighed. "An old one... It came out awhile ago and I'm playing it again."

"Well... Can I play with you? Because I deserve some time to relax. I've been running around all day and it's all your fault!" Arthur bumped his shoulder against Alfred's, grabbing one of the other controllers. "Teach me how to play, you asshole."

"Figure it out! That's part of the fun." Alfred replied. He grabbed his own controller, turning the game back on with the start button.

With a disgruntled sigh, the Brit started to toy with the different buttons. "What does this do? What character am I?" he asked, bumping his elbow against the American. "I told you to teach me. What the fuck do I do?"

Sighing, Alfred tilted his head back. "The A button makes you run faster. The arrows make you move. The X button is your sword, and the B button is your shield. Geez, it took me like two seconds to figure it out when I first played it. You're so old."

Arthur growled, following after Alfred's sprite while his fingers worked at the arrows. But he suddenly stopped. "Alfred, tell me the truth. Other than wanting to be an annoying brat, why did you send me those letters? I mean, I got one practically every day. And why did you try so hard?"

"I told you, it was a joke. I thought it'd be funny to see you get upset that you didn't have an actual secret admirer." Alfred paused the game and leaned back against the wall. "Why did you care so much? You came all the way over here just to complain about some stupid letters. I feel like there's something else."

"N-no! If anything, something else is up with you!" The Brit placed the controller down on the bed, turning and pointing a finger. "Why did you put so much effort into a dumb joke? Do you think I care that I don't have a secret admirer? Why did you try so damn hard to make me upset? Because the only thing I'm upset about is having to run around all day."

"Then I guess I sorta failed. But I also succeeded, since you are annoyed." Alfred shrugged. "But really, I don't care anymore. It's not like it matters..." He averted his eyes, focusing instead on the floor, to avoid contact with the other.

"So... That's it? Fine, I'll go." Arthur stood, turning around and storming out the door. "Thanks for making me waste my whole day, asshole." He was halfway across the hallway, but he backpedalled to the door, slamming it shut for an angry effect. He hurried down the stairs, running into Matthew. "Tell your brother he's a pathetic piece of shit, will you please?"

"Wait, Arthur!" Alfred called from the bedroom. He rushed down the stairs and grabbed Arthur by the shoulder before he could leave. "Before you go, I really need to tell you something." Arthur spun around, giving the American's chest a shove.

"What? Are you going to tell me that I'm a dumbass for falling for your oh so hilarious trick?" he hissed, glaring hard at the American. "I'm leaving. Don't send me any more letters or I'm done with you for good." Without waiting for Alfred to say whatever he wanted to say, Arthur stomped to the front door.

"It wasn't a joke! I actually meant the things I wrote in those stupid letters!" Alfred spat. Across the room, Matthew burst into a fit of giggles, but Alfred's expression stayed serious.

"Oh yeah?! Why the hell did you constantly tell me that it was a joke, then?! You fucking liar! You lost your chance to tell me anything!" Arthur swung the door open, hurling it shut again once he was outside, and charged down the driveway.

Alfred chased him out the door, calling from the porch, "B-because you were laughing at me and you were making me feel guilty for it! I wanted you to think I was joking so you wouldn't make fun of me! But I really like you, Arthur! I'm not lying right now...!"

Arthur stopped, as if a wall was blocking him from going any farther, even if he really wanted to leave and return to the comfort of his home. And then something whirled him around to look at the American. "How do I know you're not lying? Why the hell would you even say it was a joke, then? How, if you lied in the first place, should I trust you now?" He trudged back up to the porch, stepping up half of the steps. "Prove it."

"I told you... I lied because you would've made fun of me for writing those poems. I know they were really cheesy and probably kinda annoying, but they were true... I promise I'm not lying right now, Arthur. I really like you." Alfred crossed his arms and whimpered childishly. "Please believe me..."

Arthur snorted, stepping up the final steps until he was almost chest to chest with Alfred. "'Your face is as soft as our future baby's bottom'. Really? Really? You know I can't raise kids for my life. Hell, you turned out fucked up. What do you think would happen if we _both_ raised a kid? Huh?" He raised an eyebrow, placing his fists on his hips.

"I don't know... I-I just thought it was clever...! I'm sorry, I'm sorry...!" Alfred whimpered. Soon, tears were rolling down to his cheeks and his face was hidden behind his hands. "I-I was just trying to be creative in telling you that I liked you... b-because I really do... I can never do anything right..."

Arthur froze, reaching out a hand but not quite touching the American. "Hey, uh... Listen... I'm kind of hungry, since I've been running around all day. Do you know any good restaurants around here? This is all your fault, so you should pay for my lunch." His hand finally met with Alfred's shoulder, and he gave in a reassuring squeeze.

Alfred wiped his nose on his sleeve. His mood perked up unusually quick at hearing those words. "Yeah! Of course I'll buy you some lunch! And... whatever else you want to do after lunch, too. Not just for causing you all this trouble, but... but because I really like you!"

"Alright, fine. You have your reasons, and I have mine. I'm actually really hungry right now." With a sly smile, the Brit grabbed hold of Alfred's arm, leading him down the porch steps and to the truck he knew was the American's. "Anything else? Like what? Do you have something planned? I know there's a new horror movie out here, right? And I know how much you love horror..."

"Yeah, I love horror!" Alfred lied. "But I'll hold your hand if you get scared, haha! I know how fragile you can be." He gave Arthur a gentle side hug and climbed into the car.

"Oh yes, my hand will be the hand that will need to be held! I think it's the other way around, dear." Arthur let out a hearty laugh, one straight from his chest. "And, you know, even if those damned letters are clogging up my workspace now, they were kind of cute. I can't believe you used some of those pickup lines. 'Are you from Tennessee? Because you're the only ten-I-see.' What, should I speak in a southern accent from now on?" Another chuckle rumbled from the Brit, and he leaned over. A fluffy kiss was pressed to Alfred's cheek, surprising both of them, two faces turning two different shades of red.

"...It'd be cute if you did. Southern accents are sexy." Alfred said, pretending not to have noticed the kiss, although his red cheeks saying otherwise. "Anyway, let's go..!"


End file.
